The Selection rewrite
by divergentstories1
Summary: I rewrote 'The Selection' trilogy by Kiera Cass, the way I would have written it. Some different characters, different wording, and different plot twists make this version different from the original. This is a romance/drama about the choices both America and Prince Maxon need to make. Maxon or Aspen? Which girl will Maxon pick? *all rights to Kiera Cass*
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

America

"America, it's time for dinner!"

"Coming!"

I finish scribbling down one last note on my page and stand up. I leave my room and scurry down the short flight of stairs in our small house, eager for food.

I walk into our crammed kitchen – slash – dining room and take my spot next to my sister, May, and across from my brother, Timothy. My mother and father sit at the ends of the table.

I smooth my hair over my shoulder and smile at my mother. "Mom, did you already set the table and bring out the food?"

"Of course, sweetheart," she replies, smiling at me as she reaches over Timothy for the potatoes.

"You should have asked me for help," I say, taking a piece of bread from the center of the table.

"It's alright, I had your sister to help me. Right May?"

May nods, winking at me, and scoops peas into her mouth.

"Besides, we know you've been working very hard on that composition for the Beatties' party in a few weeks," adds my father, beaming at me. "How's that coming along, America?"

"Wonderfully," I reply. "I hope they like it."

"I'm sure they will, sweetheart," says Mom. "The Threes always love America's originals," she grins proudly.

I nod, blushing a little. It is a big deal for a Five to get a gig singing at a Three's party.

Being a Five, I'm not nearly as fortunate as anyone in a caste above me, but I certainly don't have it as bad as the Eights. My family works very hard to get food on the table every night. That is, most of us do.

My mother, Viola, is a singer, and works at parties, lending her talent when people will have it. Everyone in Carolina says she has a beautiful voice, and she is one of the most requested at parties of all Fives. She homeschools all her children, and I think she is the most amazing person on the planet.

My father, Andrew, is an artist. He is also very talented, and spends his days in his studio creating masterpieces and making whatever profits he can.

I have four siblings, Kyla being the oldest at twenty-three. She married her husband, Kellan, who is a Four, so now she is a Four. They had a baby daughter named Astra, and now they live an hour away from our house. Her talent as a Five was art, but now she is a full time mother.

My older brother, Cason, is nineteen years old and also an artist. When he was eighteen and still lived with us, a piece of his artwork sold for a fortune. This catapulted his career as an artist, and soon enough, he had lineups of people wanting his artwork. When he got upgraded to a _Three _due to his fame, he let it get to his head. Instead of sharing his income with us, his family who really needed it, he kept it all to himself. Every single penny. Now that he lives on his own in Angeles, we don't contact him often.

Then there's me, America, the middle child of five. I am seventeen and a musician. I think I'm completely ordinary, but my family insists on my talent as a singer and pianist.

May is twelve, and we are very close. She is an artist, and loves spending time in the studio with my father, letting him give her tips.

Timothy is the youngest, at nine years old. He hasn't exactly found his talent as a Five yet, whether it's music or art, but he still has plenty of time to figure it out. Currently, as far as he's concerned, he'd rather play ball with his friends than sing or paint.

As a family, we do okay for Fives, but we all have to do our part to make ends meet. Now, without Kyla and after Cason left us, we all need to pitch in more than ever.

"I wish I could sing like you, Ames," comments May, leaning on her elbow and looking at me. "You have the voice of an angel."

I smile at her. "And I wish I could draw like you!"

She seems to like that I said that, and smiles down at her food.

"So, America, the Selection paperwork is due in two weeks," mentions Mom, looking at me from under her eyelashes. I roll my eyes. We've been over this, and she knows I don't want to enter the Selection.

Any girl my age is allowed to enter her name, and a week after the deadline, twenty – five girls are selected to go to the palace and meet Prince Maxon. All the girls will spend time with the prince and the royal family, and he will eventually pick one of them to become his wife and the new princess.

King Clarkson, Prince Maxon's father, had his Selection when he was eighteen, and he chose the beautiful now-Queen Amberly. They had one child, Maxon, and now that he is eighteen, he is having his own Selection. It has been a tradition for many generations.

My mother wants me to enter the Selection, simply because if I do somehow get picked, there is a sum of money that gets sent to my family every week until I potentially get sent home. We need the money. I sort of feel bad about refusing to enter, but I love someone else; Aspen Leger, a six, who lives in my neighborhood. I couldn't bare to leave him, let alone become a princess and eventually queen. Oh, and there's also the fact that I think the prince is stuck up and the complete opposite of my type.

"Mom," I say, giving her a look. She looks back at me, a jokingly pleading look in her eyes.

"Ames, I can't understand why you don't want to enter. I know I would, if I were you! Prince Maxon is so handsome!" says May, looking at me dreamily.

I roll my eyes and shake my head.

"America, if you married the prince, would that make me a prince?" wonders Timothy. He was addressing me, but looks at Mom.

"No, Timmy, you wouldn't be a prince, but you would be part of the royal family," answers Mom without looking up.

"Plus, America, you're so pretty. I'm sure they would pick you," comments May.

"It's picked randomly," I point out.

"Well, kitten, if they don't pick randomly, you'd definitely one of their first choices," says Dad, and Mom nods, smiling at me.

I blush.

The rest of dinner is taken up by Mom and Dad talking about upcoming jobs. I tune out, and once we are all finished dinner, I offer to help clean up.

Mom squeezes my arm before getting up and beginning to clear the dishes. I do the same. While cleaning the dishes, I sneak some leftovers up to my room. When I come back down, May pokes her head out from the family room.

"The Report is starting!"

I walk into the living room, and Mom settles next to Dad. I curl up next to May, who's lying on her stomach, swinging her feet back and forth.

Gavril Fadaye's smiley face appears on the TV screen, and he grins at the camera. I don't think I've ever seen the host of The Report frown.

"Good evening, Illéa, and welcome to this week's Report," Gavril exclaims, grinning.

"I would like to introduce his majesty King Clarkson!" announces Gavril, and the crowd erupts into applause as the king marches onto the stage. He stands on the podium.

"Good evening," he says, his voice booming across the stage. "I'd like to remind Illéa that the Selection paperwork is due in exactly two weeks. Girls from the ages of sixteen to eighteen are encouraged to enter."

I don't need to look away from our tiny TV; I know everyone's eyes have moved to look at me. I can especially feel Mom's burning into the side of my head, begging me to enter. I feel guilty.

"I'd like to welcome my son, Prince Maxon of Illéa, to speak about the Selection," announces King Clarkson.

Prince Maxon, his crown balanced perfectly upon his chestnut brown, wavy hair, makes his way to the podium. A smile is, as always, plastered on his face, and he waves to the crowd. I inwardly roll my eyes.

"Oh America, he's so handsome!" squeals May. "How could you say no to that face?"

I glare at her, but look back at the screen. It's true, he is very handsome, but that means nearly nothing to me.

"Good evening, Illéa, and thank you all for tuning in to The Report tonight," starts the prince. May nudges me, and I give her another annoyed look.

" As you all know, the Selection is taking place in a matter of weeks. I am very pleased to have the opportunity to meet twenty – five girls, one of whom will become my wife and your new princess."

The crowd cheers.

"Although I do encourage all ladies to enter their names into this Selection, it is completely optional. I am looking forward to meeting twenty – five of the ladies who do put their names in, and getting to know each of them."

That's Prince Maxon, putting on a show to seem like a gentleman. I feel like rolling my eyes, but May and my mother are staring at the screem, the same dreamy look in their eyes.

"Thank you, and have a wonderful night." Maxon steps off of the podium and takes his seat back next to his mother as the crowd cheers. Queen Amberly smiles at her son and pats his hand. I have always admired her. She is so beautiful, so elegant. She has hair similar to my colour; a dark brown, and she has the prettiest dark eyes and fair skin.

"America, he is so perfect for you!" sings Mom, pointing to the screen at Maxon.

"Trust me, Mom, he's not."

"Honey, he seems like such a sweet gentleman. Once you get to know him, I'm sure -"

"I won't _get to know him, _Mom!" I exclaim, angry. "Stop trying to coax me into doing this! He is a self – absorbed snob! You all have no regard for my feelings towards this at all!"

I stand up and head for the stairs.

"America, I didn't mean to…" Mom trails off as I run up the stairs.

I shut the door to my room behind me and lean against it, instantly feeling bad for snapping at my mother. Although the thought of entering the Selection annoys me, she didn't do anything wrong.

All the pressure of doing what was right for my family, while still doing what was right for me is getting to me. I need some air.

I sigh and opened my French windows, which face our backyard. Soon, after Illéa curfew, Aspen will throw something through my window to let me know he is there. I check my watch. It's seven – thirty, so The Report is just ending. I hear footsteps coming up the stairs and flop onto my bed. I know someone is coming to talk to me.

"America?" My door opens a crack to reveal Mom, peeking at me. "Can I come in?"

"Yes," I answer, sitting up. Mom sits next to me and puts her hand on my knee.

"America, I know this is a lot of pressure. I know that you don't want to enter the Selection."

I shake my head, looking at my hands.

"You don't have to," she states simply.

I look up at her, and her bright blue eyes soften as they meet mine.

"I feel so bad, Mom," I admit, tilting my head. "I know we need the money, it's just…"

"It's alright, sweetheart. You and I can continue with our jobs at parties, and your dad has been working on an amazing painting. We can get by. I don't want to force you to do something you don't want to do."

I think for a moment. Sure, both of my parents are talented, but we won't ever make as much money as we would if I make it into the Selection. We are going to make enough to scrape by, but Mom understands how I feel right now.

I hug my mother. "Thank you, Mom."

After everyone has gone to bed, I stay awake. I keep my windows open, as always, and listen to the crickets chirping outside. I check my watch again. It's midnight.

As if right on cue, a stone flies through my open window and lands on my rug, making a small thump noise. I cringe as always, hoping no one heard. I pick up the stone and smile at it like it's gold. Aspen has never once missed my window.

I peek out of the window and see Aspen smiling up at me, his white teeth gleaming in the darkness. I smile back at him and hurry back into my room to grab the feast I prepared. I'm so excited to present Aspen with all this good food; I can't wait to see how happy it will make him. He is a six; the caste of mostly servants and maids, and he is one of seven children. He has two older sisters; twins, three younger brothers, and a younger sister, and his father died when he was ten. His mother stays home to take care of all the children, and they all work as servants to barely make enough money to survive. Being the oldest male in his family, Aspen really takes the fatherly role and cares for his family, making sure everyone is fed and healthy.

I grab the picnic basket and tiptoe, quickly but quietly, down the stairs. I shut the front door as quietly as I can behind me, and hurry around my house into the backyard, where Aspen is waiting, as always.

I run into his arms and he picks me up, spinning me around, and puts me down.

"Hey, Mer," he whispers, kissing me quickly.

"Hi," I say, grinning up at him. Aspen is so tall, over six feet tall, and I am so short, maybe five foot one, that I have to look almost directly up to see his face.

"Shall we?" he asks, motioning to the tree house.

I giggle. "Race ya!" Clutching the picnic basket, I sprint over to my tree house, which is well hidden from my house by other trees, and start climbing up.

Aspen catches up and climbs after me. "You've gotten faster, haven't you, Mer?" he asks, laughing.

"I've probably gotten taller, too," I joke, and he laughs again.

Up in the tree house, I set my picnic basket in the corner and sit, curled up against Aspen. He holds me, and I lean against him, playing with his hand. Aspen and I have been meeting in secret whenever we can, at night in my tree house. We meet mostly every night, well after Illéa curfew. It is illegal to be out this late, but neither me nor Aspen were ever one to follow the rules. I am a Five and Aspen is a Six, but neither of us care. It's not illegal for separate castes to marry or see each other, but I'm not sure my parents would approve of marrying down a caste. My mother in particular has always wanted me to marry a Three or a Four. Well, or a One, now. Aspen and I catch up and talk about our families. Then, the subject of the Selection comes up.

"My mom really wanted me to enter, but earlier tonight she told me I didn't have to if I really didn't want to," I explain.

"Why don't you want to go, Mer?"

I gape at him. "Is that even a question, Aspen?"

He shrugs, not looking straight into my eyes. "I mean, your family needs the money, right?"

I shake my head. "Aspen. You can't possibly believe me entering the Selection would be a good thing. Sure, my family needs the money, but my mom said herself that I don't have to do it. Besides, you do realize it's not just money, but… a possibility for marriage, right?"

"I know, America, but I just think you should think about it some more. Maybe you should do it for your family!"

I stare at him for a while, trying to decipher what he is meaning, but finally decide to let the subject drop.

I crawl over to the corner of the tree house and grab the picnic basket.

"I brought you a surprise." I open the basket and pull out the food. I look at him, expecting to see him looking happy and excited, but instead he wears a bothered expression.

I take the last item out of the basket and set it down. "What?"

He shakes his head.

"Aspen, what is it?" I demand.

"Nothing, Mer, it's just… _I'm _supposed to be the one spoiling you. It's humiliating that I'll never be able to provide for you."

I can hear Aspen getting upset in his voice. I suddenly feel bad. Of course Aspen would get upset over me setting up a feast for him. He's always assured me that once we're older and married, he would find a way to provide for me. And here I was, bringing him food and spoiling _him. _Aspen has never been the type to want to be spoiled by the ones he loves; he wants to spoil _me._

"I'm sorry, I thought you would be happy."

"It's fine, Mer, it's not that. I… I just always wanted to spoil you."

That's my Aspen. Always wanting to ben my knight in shining armour.

"I know, Aspen," I say, reaching for his hand, but he pulls back, his expression sort of sad.

"Aspen," I repeat, staring into his eyes. He won't look at me.

"America, I think you should enter the Selection."

"What?"

He finally looks up at me. "I'll never be able to provide for you. The prince would, that's for sure. And your family needs the money." He stands up, and I gape at him, scrambling to my feet.

"You can't be serious!" I exclaim, touching his arm. "What is this, a break up?"

I didn't completely believe he was breaking up with me, but he just turns and looks at me, a sad look in his eyes.

"Aspen?" I plead.

"I love you, Mer, but do what's right. You'll have a better life if you do. Enter the Selection." And with that, he climbs out of the tree house.

I watch as he jogs down the street until he reaches his house, and then sink to the ground and cry.

All of those years, all of the nights we spent talking and kissing in the tree in secret, all of the things we both risked for each other, were gone in a matter of minutes.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Maxon

"The very thought of you marrying a Seven is hideous."

"Father, these girls are supposed to be chosen randomly. I finally agreed to choose them in the first place, but vetoing Sevens and Eights just because of their castes is not okay!"

My father and I are in the Meeting Room, discussing how we are going to choose the girls for my Selection. I was hesitant when Father told me we were going to choose the girls based on their talents and appearances, because the public has been told the pick is completely random. I never liked the idea of lying. But now, Father has proposed that we only consider castes of six and up.

"Maxon, you can't look me in the eye and tell me you wouldn't mind marrying an eight who was previously homeless."

I look down, knowing what is coming if I argue again. I know by his tone that I'm one protest away from getting beaten.

"Good. So we'll only select girls from the castes of Six and up. I would only select from Four and up, but of course that would look suspicious to the public."

I nod, wanting to scream at him, but keep it inside. I'm a coward for not standing up to him. I'm a coward.

"You are dismissed, son."

I abruptly stand up and hurry out of the Meeting Room. I don't know where I'm going, but I hate being alone with my father.

Not even my own mother knows that my father abuses me. At least, I hope she doesn't know. I love my mother, and if she does know, it means she doesn't care enough to stop him. I can't love my father. He is my father, and I care about him, but after all the scars he has put on my back, ever since I was ten years old, I can't love him.

I turn and walk down the hallway, which will eventually lead me to my room. I don't intend on making any stops, but a voice calls out my name from the library. I stop in the doorway and see my mother, sitting in a chair with a book in front of her. Her dark hair is pulled into some sort of braided bun, her crown resting delicately on her head. She is wearing her favourite blue day dress.

"Hello, Maxon," she says, and pats the seat next to her for me to sit. I sit next to her.

"Good morning, Mother."

"How did the Selection meeting go?"

"It went well," I reply, lying. Mother looks down, not meeting my eyes. Sometimes I wonder if my father treats her the same way he treats me. I hope he doesn't.

"That's good, dear. Are you getting nervous?" She looks up at me and smiles a little, her dark eyes softening.

"A little, I suppose. I'm more nervous about what the girls will think of me," I admit.

"Ah." She sets her book down on the table between us. "Well, I do have some experience with the Selection myself."

I grin at her. "Go on."

"I assure you, if these girls are anything like the girls from my Selection, they will all adore you. The issue lies in what measures they will take to win your heart."

"What?"

She chuckles. "Maxon, I just want to warn you of one thing. There will be girls who are competing because they want your heart, and others who are competing because they want the crown. Be aware of the difference."

I think about her words for a moment. "Are there really some girls who will marry me for the crown? Not because they want me?"

"I'm afraid so." Mom pats my shoulder and smiles. "All you need to do is find the right girl."


End file.
